


Trousers and Titles

by metempsychosis5



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28547802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metempsychosis5/pseuds/metempsychosis5
Summary: What really happened when Kíli said *that line* to Tauriel in the cells. Here, I fixed it.Featuring Even More Gratuitous Dwarf naming conventions. Aka, Kíli manages to turn an inability to remember names to his advantage - or does he?  Now with bonus Quality Exasperated Fíli.Scenes occur before the runestone chat. Some sweary bits in common and Khuzdul.
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Trousers and Titles

**Author's Note:**

> TaurielxKíli is all good, I just don't dig how it was written in the film. Fíli = all of us.
> 
> Because I mean, come on. She's a Captain.
> 
> Clan naming conventions fit my headcanon for the bigger fic from which this fluff sprouted.

_*Mirkwood, post-arachnids, on the way to Thranduil's Halls*_

‘Who _are_ they?’ says Bofur.

‘Elves,’ hisses Kíli, wide-eyed, and Bofur doesn’t quite know what to make of the edge in the lad’s voice. Was he… excited?

‘Yes, I can see that,’ he says impatiently. ‘I mean who do you think they are?’ He points at the shorter blonde. ‘That one’s in charge.’

‘Aye, he’s the leader alright,’ grunts Dwalin from behind them. ‘The Woodland king’s pup, if I remember.’

‘A royal, then,’ says Nori with twisted mouth. ‘All we need. Another fucking prince. Beggin’ the pardon of present company,’ he adds snidely.

‘Royal or no, he’s an arrogant little bell-end,’ growls Glóin, still outraged.

Nori rolls his eyes. ‘Takes one to know one,’ he mutters.

‘What did you just say to me?’

‘Nothin.’

‘And she?’ says Kíli, ignoring Nori. He says the word ‘she’ in wonder, watching the redhead move gracefully at the head of the column, occasionally checking the phalanx.

‘She’s the Cap, obviously,’ says Nori loftily, and one of the elves pushes him from behind. ‘Oi.’

‘Yes…obviously,’ says Kíli, dazed, and Dwalin and Nori eye him as they walk.

*

‘Aren’t you going to search me?’ says Kíli in a faux-deep voice. ‘I could have anything down my trousers.’

The Captain stares hard at him.

Fíli gives a long-suffering groan and rests his forehead on a bar.

 _‘Why would you say that?!’_ he implores the whole of Eä in Khuzdul.

He is furious at losing his amad’s knife. He knows his mood is making his brother’s occasional idiocy far harder to tolerate. But this is... this is just...

_‘No really, brother, why would you say that? To anyone?! “Anything down my trousers”, for Mahal’s sake.’_

‘Or nothing,’ responds the Captain airily, and moves away.

‘It’s true,’ yells Bofur gleefully in Common. ‘The lad’s got nothin’ down there!’

Nori starts cackling, and then the rest of them follow, except Glóin and the sons of Fundin.

 _‘Honestly,’_ continues Fíli to his brother’s deepening chagrin. _‘And what was with the voice? Were you going for coy seduction? Durin’s axe, never, ever do that again.’_

The elves are leaving the cells, the blonde one prattling in his silver tongue, to which the Captain replies something light. Then the blonde one spits something clearly rude, and clearly meant for Kíli.

He chooses to take that as a good sign. And when the blonde one sends a death stare his way, he is not too embarrassed to meet it darkly with his own.

*

‘Hello, Teriel!’ Kíli says brightly when they come to deliver bread, fruit and cheese for breakfast. She always delivers food to him. It is never another elf, and she does not take food to the others.

‘That is not my name, nor my title.’

‘Oops, sorry,’ he grins contritely.

It’s been going on for days. He’s tried just about every version of what he vaguely remembers her name to be.

‘Well done, lad. Good trick,’ calls Dwalin gruffly when she’s gone.

‘Trick?’ His confusion is obvious, even from several cells away.

‘You mean it’s not a tactic? You’re not doing it to give her a headache?’ asks Dwalin, his voice lifting an octave.

‘Course he’s not,’ mutters Nori.

Fíli just sighs, long and loud.

She brings a slice of hot smoked salmon, a potato and some greens for midday supper. He pokes at the greens, but is undeterred.

‘Thank you Tayriel,’ he sings out, head pressed against the bars. ‘Did I get it right?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

As the light dims and torches are brought, she comes with honey, soft flatbread, and some milk. He’s beginning to get bruises along his hairline.

‘Not as sweet as you, Tieriel!’

‘By Durin, Kíli!’ Dwalin bellows from somewhere in the cells. ‘I’m going to ask Thranduil to do me in! It would cause me less pain!’

She favours Kíli with an emotionless, elven look, then disappears.

He remains at the bars, rueful. Then he cocks his head.

‘Fíli? Are you okay? What’s that banging sound?’

‘His head!’ shouts Bofur, ‘On the wall!’

‘Er. Sorry,’ says Kíli. ‘Be careful, Fee,’ he adds helpfully.

A strangled sound echoes among the cells.

*

‘Captain Tauriel.’

She stops but doesn’t look at him, and he smiles winningly.

‘Did I get that right?’

A pause; then she nods, once.

He taps his chest. ‘Kíli, at your service.’ Somewhere nearby, Dwalin grouses spicily and at length in Khuzdul.

‘Shall I tell you what your name would be if it was dwarvish?’ he asks quietly. He has her attention now.

‘Go on,’ she says, a little wary, stepping closer to his cell.

Kíli thinks fast. ‘If it were Firebeard, maybe Taura, or Tarra,’ he says, then stops, suddenly thinking of someone else. He swallows and pushes it from his mind; she watches him curiously.

‘If Broadbeam, hm, could be Taurje or some variation of that. Or if Longbeard, like me,’ he grins up at her now, ‘perhaps Tauís, or Tís. Or if you’re from the east, maybe something like Tasj. These are just the common ones, though.’

She is listening, he realises with sudden euphoria. As he slowly sounds out the different accents, she moves her head to the side, as if entranced.

‘I like Taura,’ she decides, coming to sit on a step. She has a dreaming look about her, less sharp angles in her cheekbones and hard soldier’s stare, but softer, seeing something in her mind’s eye.

‘It’s simple, but strong, like a dwarf,’ she smiles at him now, and it is a pure light. It distracts him from any pique he feels at dwarves being called simple.

‘Would you like to know your elvish name?’

‘Oh yes,’ breathes Kíli, leaning his forehead on the bars again.

‘Kíldir.’ She draws it out, accenting the syllables, pulling on the vowels. He can't take his eyes off her mouth as she does so.

Then he frowns deeply.

‘Kill deer? That sounds – ’

‘Yes,’ she stands up, ‘stupid. Like what your leader tried to do to our stag. Enjoy your dinner, your empty trousers, and your bad luck.’

Kíli’s mouth drops open as her heel twists smartly on the step, and the cells erupt with dwarven yelling. Soaring over the Khuzdul insults are his brother’s howls of laughter. And, he realises in dismay, some of the dwarves are chiming in for the other side.

‘Aye, you tell him, lass!'

‘One-zero to the she-elf Cap.’

‘That’ll teach you to flirt badly and inappropriately, laddo. Wha’? Ah. Er, right you are Dwalin, of course. That’ll teach to you flirt badly and inappropriately... _with elves.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Don't shoot down white stags, y'all. You'll get bad luck and Tauriel will be on your asses.
> 
> The author supports all cross cultural relationships, as does Bofur, who will eventually confess same to Kíli somewhere that Dwalin is not. And I'm sure ol' D will get there in the end.


End file.
